


Lie Back and Think of England

by BattyPastel



Series: FrUKing Self Pleasure [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: But he wants his dick in this, Drunkenness, Fantasizing, FrUK, Francis just loves Arthur so much, Gay, Gay Male Character, Imaginary England, Imagination, M/M, Masturbation, Naughty, OR IS IT, One-Sided Attraction, Sentimental, Sexual Fantasy, Touching, ukfr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattyPastel/pseuds/BattyPastel
Summary: Francis gets drunk. He gets drunk and touches himself while imagining Arthur dominating him.





	Lie Back and Think of England

The light from the two dimmed lamps on either side of the bed lit the room just enough so that if Francis wanted to get up, he could see where he was going. While his room was always kept neat, the dimmed light made certain that he wouldn’t be tripping over house shoes or anything that he may have tossed carelessly onto the floor during the day or night. 

Many guests had assumed that Francis was afraid of the dark, but that was the farthest from the truth- rather, he was afraid of face planting after just waking up.

He’d perhaps had one glass of wine too many that evening and he knew it. He’d been alive for a long time and he knew the effects of alcohol on his body. Not quite tipsy- Okay, maybe he was a little drunk, he didn’t want to admit that however. 

When he drank like this though, he always tended to get a touch sentimental. Besides himself, there was no one to share his bed. 

He didn’t want just anyone though, he wanted Arthur.

Francis moved, swaying slightly, towards the bed and landed head first into the pillowy comforter. Shuffling, he grunted a little realizing he was fully dressed. That was was perhaps the least comfortable way to sleep. 

He mentally kicked himself, how could he have forgotten to take his clothes off? … Right. The alcohol. Sighing a little, he sat up, pulling off his thin, oversized sweater and tossed it aside, his cotton pajama pants followed shortly after the top leaving Francis in nothing but a pair of cerulean boxer briefs and a pair of house socks. 

This would be fine enough. 

There was no real need to take off his socks, not to mention he hardly felt coordinated or energized enough to remove the clothes that he’d left on.

Finally he could rest.  
Except now, he was cold.

Francis shuffled off of the bed with a groan, watching the floor carefully as he put his feet on the ground. He felt the need to steady himself some by keeping a hand on the bed. He was drunk, but not drunk enough to not respond to his unsteadiness accordingly.  
Afterall, he’d been drunk many times and knew how to carry himself when he had a bit too much. 

Off the bed now, the Frenchman pulled the blankets back, slipped back into bed and half heartedly pulled the sheets up over himself. He was tired and would very much enjoy this rest.

Or at least he thought he would. 

Francis ended up just lying there and letting his mind wander over whatever it would for the next hour. Which was all frustrating. He wanted his mind to be silent and just let him fall asleep.

Strangely enough, his mind was starting to trail back to Arthur. Francis knew why, of course. He was madly in love with the Englishman. However, due to their complicated history, Francis had convinced himself that he should never tell Arthur how he really felt.

 

But, the fact that he had no intention of telling Arthur didn’t help his current case.

He sighed a little, letting his eyes open some. The drunken Frenchman was staring up at the ceiling. Having a busy mind while trying to sleep was just as soothing as living in an apartment complex with loud neighbors that never turned their dance music down- only worse. You couldn’t call the police on your mind and make it stop at least for a night, nor could you move away from your thoughts.

Francis knew he needed to hush his mind. 

He rolled over and extended an arm over one of his two pillows before pulling it close. 

Perhaps the proximity of a faux lover could help soothe his noisy brain.  
At least his mind fixated on one thing.

A small chuckle left him. Here he was, the embodiment of France lying back and thinking of England. He couldn’t blame early 20th century women, of course they wouldn’t want their husbands, he’d tune out too if he were in there situation.  
They just didn’t realize what a dream England really was. With those lovely green eyes, plump rosebud lips, and… Well, his fashion sense could use work at times, but really, Arthur was an attractive man.

Francis could remember the first time he saw Arthur’s adult body. Not that he managed to touch him the first time, but his eyes gave way to subtle hints about how his form may feel that had remained mostly unchanged. 

Once he got to touch him though, it was far better than he’d ever imagined.

Arthur had a thin body. The slightest hint of abs on a soft belly- not fat, but he was soft. He had a little muscle on his arms, not particularly built, but he had enough muscle. He was very lean. But Francis’ favourite non-facial feature was Arthur’s hips which were a little on the wider side. They were perfect for resting his hands on and gently gripping, they were good for hugging, and they were good for biting, too. 

Then again… Francis wouldn’t only bite his hips, he’d leave Arthur a marked up mess.

He considered the idea of leaving marks all over him and laughed a little.  
That would make Arthur so angry. Francis knew for certain that Arthur would fuss over a bruise here and there in visible spots. He always tried to uphold that gentlemanly persona while having not-so vanilla tastes in the bedroom.

Francis’ admiring thoughts soon changed to impure fantasies. He bit his lip a little. It’s not as if he hadn’t thought of Arthur this way, but it didn’t feel right whenever he did. First of all, Francis was the nation of love, so a bit of drunken self love made him feel as though he were incapable of holding his title.  
And as for the fantasies of the man he wanted in his bed… In the eyes of the world, he and Arthur were rivals and enemies, throughout history they had done several things to hurt each other. Not to mention Arthur had never been in Francis’ bed for more than the occasional drunken one night stand. 

They’d never been romantic toward each other.  
So why was it always Arthur that he fantasized about?

What he could remember from those drunken nights were somewhat spotty, but he could remember Arthur’s face. Whether he was on top or on the bottom, that face was just so… Sexy. 

He and Arthur had very different styles of being on top. 

When he was on top he loved looking down on that red, panting face and watching Arthur bite his lip and resist moaning beneath him.  
He loved feeling Arthur’s body writhe and arch under himself. He could tell that Arthur loved how adoringly he was treated whenever he got beneath him, and Francis never gave him less than what he felt he deserved. Anytime Francis was on top, he always engaged his temporary lover in drunken body worship. 

Always left him begging for more.

When Arthur was on top, though… his eyes were sharper, determined, and lustful.  
Just imagining the times when he managed to look up and see those eyes and he way his slightly parted mouth would twist into a smirk when he looked up at the Englishman made his stomach tighten in a pleasant way. 

Arthur fucked Francis and made him drunk on the feeling of being thoroughly dominated.  
Francis made love to Arthur. 

The Frenchman wondered if the other man ever realized it.

He could still remember how it felt to have the drunken Englishman thrust into him with enough force to make sitting uncomfortable the next day, the sound of his grunts and growls. Honestly, he was very surprised with how dominating Arthur could be.

While imagining himself back in that vulnerable position beneath the former delinquent, he permitted his hand to wander down and rub at the front of his boxer-briefs. 

The Frenchman could feel himself growing hard beneath his own hand, “Merde…” he hissed. He got aroused that easily? How embarrassing. Time for the underwear to come off some. Francis pushed it down just enough to free his growing erection. He didn’t want to sit up and push them completely away because the alcohol he’d had earlier made the room spin if he moved too suddenly. Yet, he didn’t want to take his time in pushing them away because it would take too long and he didn’t have the patience right now. 

But really, the only real time he had the patience to be slow was when he was doing this to someone else. 

 

Francis looked to the side at the closer nightstand that sat closer to himself. He reached over, opening the drawer and pulled out a tube of hand lotion. How undignified, but his options were limited and this was the ideal, quickest way to help him get off. It was the furthest thing from what he really wanted, though. 

What he wanted was Arthur, but he was sober enough to recognize that Arthur may not enjoy receiving horny, sentimental, drunken texts so late.

He opened the tube and squeezed some of the slick, silky lotion in his palm and closed his fingers over it to both warm it and coat his hand. He waited for a moment and let it heat properly, because it was never fun when his lubrication of choice was cold. 

Once the coolness left the thick substance, he started in on himself.  
His hand moved to his free half erection and started rubbing and playing with himself a bit, urging his cock to swell faster which was definitely working. A content sigh left Francis as he looked down admiring his own length. He watched himself become completely hard and gently dabbed the pearl of precum that beaded at the tip of his length.

A small chuckle left him, he knew that Arthur would enjoy knowing that he had such an effect on him. He bit his lip as he allowed his hand to slowly stroke his length, just imagining Arthur next to him, smirking, and whispering dirty things to him as he worked.

Francis’ imagination was almost as good as the real thing.  
He could practically hear him, now. 

‘Oh, you’re that hard already? What a little slut…’ Francis chewed his lip a little harder, closing his eyes, ‘You’re going to do exactly as I say or I won’t let you cum.’ He could feel the breath on his ear from the other man leaning in and whispering gruffly. ‘Got that?’ a pause, ‘Good. Please yourself for me, I want to watch you get off to just my voice, frog.’

Impatiently, he started rubbing himself faster, only to whimper when he imagined the other biting his ear, ‘Slow down! Or I’ll have to punish you. And you don’t want that.’ No, he didn’t. Imagination or not, he remembered how his punishments went and they weren’t fun in the least. 

‘I want to enjoy the show. Slow down. Like this…’ The imaginary Englishman corrected gently, now. He could practically feel the imaginary hand reaching over to guide his hand to stroke himself at a more pleasing pace.

Francis rubbed his thumb over the tip of his length with every stroke, his breath picking up slightly. The only sounds in the room was the slicking noise of him rubbing himself off and his soft panting. ‘Good boy…~’ Francis kept that pace until it was becoming agonizing. He was relieved when he heard his fantasy whisper: ‘Faster.’

A soft whine left his lips as he stroked himself faster, not bothering with thumbing his tip anymore. He was desperate, hot, and bothered- there was simply no time for rubbing his slit.

‘Yes, good. Keep that up…’  
There was no doubt that Arthur would be masturbating with him if he were there. Unfortunately, when Arthur got this way, he couldn’t order the Englishman in the same way. And often times whether he tried to make demands or not, he’d get Arthur’s cock in his mouth to silence him.  
Not that Francis complained, of course.

Francis huffed a little louder, imagining Arthur’s hand in place of his, ‘You’ve been so, so good…’ He let his head fall back some. ‘Who do you belong to?’ He gripped himself a little, unevenly between strokes like Arthur usually did, but since he was the one doing it to himself, it didn’t make him jump or whine. It did feel nice enough to make his toes curl though and draw some moans from him.

‘I asked you a question!’ He could practically hear the growl, it was so vivid. ‘Who do you belong to!?’  
“Nngh! A-Arthur…” he answered out loud. 

Moaning for someone not even in the room. If he were sober and not caught up in the moment, he may consider it a little pathetic how he moaned for someone not even there, someone that didn’t even realize that he adored them. But not now. The only thing on Francis’ mind was Arthur’s commanding voice, his touch, his growls, and his own quickly oncoming orgasm.

And oh was his orgasm building. “Arthur… Arthur…” he repeated again and again between heavy breathing. Arthur would love this so much if he were here. 

‘Yes, darling, yes. You’re all mine~ I think you deserve a reward…’

Francis dig his heels into the sheets and arched off the bed some. He worked himself fast, wanting nothing more than sweet release. After a few more strokes, the Frenchman closed his eyes tight, his mouth opened, but his voice stalled, “Ouais…~” 

After making a mess of his abdomen, hand, and his sheets, Francis’ body relaxed. The thoughts of Arthur dominating him melted away. His eyes fluttered. What a shame that the Englishman wasn’t truly there to hold. A sigh left him as he rolled onto his side and hugged his pillow. The pillow would simply have to deal with his hugs until he could have Arthur back in his arms.

He was patient.  
He could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest story I've submitted on this site and it's something I started on a whim when I was horny but couldn't do anything about it because I had a guest and really has only one character. 
> 
> Comments and criticism welcome!!


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